


Under the Mountain Dark and Tall

by antennastohell



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Bilbo is So Done, Dis and Gandalf are shipper trash, Dis is (kind of) better with elves than Thorin, Dis is the leader and not Thorin, Gandalf Meddles, Gold Sickness, In which the company is the "Bilbo Defense Squad", M/M, Multi, Nothing too harsh, Smut to come? Who knows, Thorin being Thorin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 06:07:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4949575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antennastohell/pseuds/antennastohell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Without Thorin's knowledge and to Gandalf's advice, Dis, Daughter of Thráin, son of Thrór, decides to reclaim Erebor with the help of twelve dwarfs and one burglar. </p><p>A bagginshield fic in which Dis leads the company to reclaim Erebor and not Thorin. Cue better group choices, less spiteful remarks about Bilbo, and more family moments than you wanted honestly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Under the Mountain Dark and Tall

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so! This is my first dive into anything Tolkien. I haven't written anything in a year or two, so I need to get back into the swing of things.  
> I can't promise updates often, but I will try for once a month at least. Working 40 hours and such can really hit you hard. Tell me what you think, it'll help me big time! First chapter is a baby, but they'll get longer and differ from the canon as we go along. Alright, enjoy people <3

_Longbottom Leaf is surely a miracle worker,_ Bilbo thought, mulling over his pipe on whether he would head to the market later that morning or not. _Surely I have enough cheese, but perhaps not. I did make those biscuits yesterday and oh yes, I put some in that basket for Fosco and Ruby- bless their souls, so many happy years of marriage._ While thinking of the current status on his cheese supply, a shadow fell upon him, blocking the warmth of the sun he was enjoying.  He looked up, eyes falling upon an elderly man. _Who is this stranger? Awfully close to my gate that is for certain,_ was his first thought. His second, _Who wears this much clothing on such a hot day in the shire anyway?_ He took a puff from his pipe, brows creasing at the odd man in front of him. “Good morning.” he tested the waters, for who knew what this traveller wanted.  
  
                “What do you mean? Do you wish me a good morning, or do you mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not?” the stranger replied, his tone pleasant as if they were somehow familiar with each other. Bilbo frowned at this. Did he not know the proper space in which a stranger should stand from someone’s entrance? Perhaps not.  It wasn’t often that strangers, or many hobbits for that matter, showed up on Bilbo Baggins’ door step. No, he much preferred his own company to that of others. “… Or perhaps… You mean to say that you feel good on this particular morning? Or are you simply stating that this is a morning to be good on? Hm?” the older man continued the small smile growing into something filled with an all knowing wisdom. Amusement danced in his blue eyes, reminding Bilbo of something or someone far off and long since forgotten. It intrigued and worried him simultaneously as he pursed his lips, taking a hesitant drag from his antique pipe (passed down from his father and his father’s father before him of course).  
  
                “All of them at once, I suppose.” was the answer he gave, not knowing what else to say. He hummed with a slight nod of his head before tapping out the ashes of pipe weed into the small pail beside his bench. He watched the gray ashes land on top of the recent rain water, before they slipped underneath the dark surface, never to be seen again. He looked back at the tall fellow on the other side of his gate. It looked as if the man could just step right over it if he chose to. When he did neither, but stood still watching Bilbo, he frowned.  “Can I help you?”  
  
                “That remains to be seen.” was the instant reply, yet the stranger made no move to jump over the fence and into Bilbo’s precious and recently tended garden. Before he could muster up any kind of reply, the unknown wanderer continued. “I’m looking for someone to share in an adventure.”  
  
                Curiosity, courtesy of his Took side, settled in his chest. An anxious and although gnawing feeling, it sent  his wild heart running with a sudden excitement to which he could not recover. Yet his Baggins side struggled against it. A family known to stick to traditional Hobbit ways, not concerning itself with the outside world as a whole, was also a part of who Bilbo was. More often than not, it would cause a small war inside of him. Even as a child, he could remember yearning to run through the woods in search of elves, only to be advised not to by any who were not his parents. The outside world was no place for a fauntling, or any Hobbit for that matter.  
  
                Yet, his mother had done all of that and more. She had seen the Elven dwelling of Imladris, the civilization of Ered Luin, and many other places he could scarcely believe existed as a child, being told bedtime stories not from a book, but his own mother’s wonderful mind.  
  
                He stood from his bench, keeping eye contact with the traveller.  
  
                “An adventure?” he asked, feigning disinterest.  He quelled the remaining Tookish feelings, siding with his Baggins heritage before reluctantly finishing. “No, I don’t imagine anyone West of Bree would have much interest in an adventure. Nasty, disturbing, uncomfortable things. Make you late for dinner.” He laughed, trying to convince this gray clothed man he wasn’t the slightest bit interested, thank you very much.  
  
                Brief disappointment showed on the stranger’s face before the raised eyebrow showed again, amusement seeping back into his features.  
  
                The sight made Bilbo frown.  
  
                Taking a sharp breath, he clapped his hands together lightly before shoving them into his pants’ pockets. Nodding a small goodbye, he stepped backwards, cheeks puffed before exhaling. “Oh… Ah… Well, good morning.” he repeated, easily enough. This visibly made the features on the old man’s face hit a snag, as if he did not expect the conversation to end so abruptly. A moment passed before he huffed and looked down at the Halfling with same twinkle in his eyes.  
  
                “To think,” he began, regaining Bilbo’s attention. “That I should have lived to be “good morninged”… By Belladonna Took’s son, as if I were selling buttons at the door.” the smile came back full force, catching the Hobbit off guard with the mention of his long since passed mother.  
  
                Belladonna Took. In the shire, she was loved and misunderstood by most all of the inhabitants. If there was ever a more adventurous Hobbit, one would be hard pressed to find them. And adventurous she was, never lingering in The Shire very long before heading out again on another wild quest. While many called her impossible to keep, Bilbo’s father had wanted her anyway. So much so, he went through the trouble of going on adventure after adventure with her. Bungo Baggins was neither a Took, nor a lover of the outside world. Yet he went along, with a reluctant body, but a strong heart.  
  
                Eventually, as Bilbo was told by his mother in her final days, he managed to keep her home for one brutally hot summer. In that time frame, Bungo Baggins managed to build Belladonna Took their very own smial, propose and then marry her, and announce to the whole of The Shire he would be a father. It was quite considerably the talk of the town, yet another thing his mother was good at. When she was alive, she was quite the topic of reoccurring gossip when rumours and hearsay of other things died down. Yet for all her recounts of adventure, which she did much of in her last days in Middle Earth, Bilbo could not place a name to this strange being in front of him, who claimed to know his mother. Settling into feeling almost offended, Bilbo fixed his posture and stepped back to his former place near his gate.  
  
                “Beg your pardon?” he stuttered, quite offended indeed! This had little to no effect on the tall traveller, as he went on with his rambling.  
  
                “You’ve changed, and not entirely for the better, Bilbo Baggins.” He exclaimed, with no lack of disappointment.  
  
                Had he changed? He did not think so, but things had never been the same since his mother’s death. Living in a large smial meant for a family of at least ten to twelve, that was bound to change any Hobbit, was it not?  
  
                Yet, he didn’t mind being alone. True, the good china hadn’t seen any use since the Yule before his mother’s passing, but it was of little consequence. Bilbo had few he could actually call friends or beloved family. Always he chose to stay home over many celebrations. It had gotten to the point where he only made appearances at the annual Brandybuck Yuletide celebration or the many weddings in the shire throughout the year. Should that not be sufficient? Certainly it was enough to earn him the nickname “Mad Baggins”, who chose to stay a wealthy and secluded bachelor. Well, at 43, he could hardly be bothered to force himself into a loveless marriage with a lass who would get nothing from him but a big smial and a beautiful garden. Knowing this, he felt better off alone, as if Yvanna planted no lover for him in her gardens. Despite the small changes, he could not understand what the stranger was trying to say, much more how he would know him to throw such a judgement around. Pursing his lips, he looked up at the strange man.  
  
                “I’m sorry, I… Do I know you?” Bilbo inquired, tilting his head to the side. The stranger gave him a disapproving, yet thoughtful look before replying this time.  
  
                “Well you know my name, although you don't remember I belong to it. I'm Gandalf! And Gandalf means... me." the name sent a nostalgic wave through the hobbit, nights of fireworks and festivals long since passed. Oh yes, he remembered Gandalf. His mother and him were very close friends, yet no one had seen a gray wizard in these parts for over two decades.  
  
               “Gandalf! Who made such excellent fireworks! Old Took used to have them on Midsummer's Eve!” Bilbo exclaimed, not knowing what else to say. Had the wizard come for his mother? Surely not. If she had lived past her dreadful illness, she would be an old Hobbit. Hopefully one who would not partake in adventures at such an age. He hummed and nodded his head at the thought. “Well, good to see you are still in the business. Honestly, haven’t seen hide nor hair of a wizard in decades. No idea you were still up to all of this.” he gestured wildly with one hand. Silence consumed the sunny day, Gandalf watching the smaller creature with inquisitive eyes.  
  
                “And where else should I be?” Bilbo laughed nervously at this, his pipe suddenly more interesting than it had been before. Any question he could ask would surely return to an answer of adventures and far more unpleasant things than his constantly tended garden. His eyes flitted to the horizon, a (very) small part of him always wondering what lie beyond the shire, beyond the region of Eriador even. When he looked back at Gandalf, he found the wizard looked pleased. Smiling, he continued. “Well, I'm pleased to find you remember something about me, even if it's only my fireworks. Well, that's decided. It will be very good for you, and most amusing for me. I shall inform the others."  
  
                This caught Bilbo off guard. What did he say that remotely hinted towards him wanting to go anywhere? What would be good for him? Assuming, in fact, made the hobbit livid. No one, not even a wizard, could tell him what was good for him and what was not. Wizards were more often than not, more trouble than help to mortals. This, he knew for a fact.  
  
                "Inform the who? What? No. No. No! You hold on. We do not want any adventures here, thank you! Not today, not…” he trailed off, lost for only a second as he glanced at the horizon again. “I suggest you try over the Hill or across the Water. Good morning." he snipped, gesturing with his pipe for the wizard to leave. He retreaded back inside, bolting his door and leaning back against it. He did not know whether he felt like he avoided a close call, or missed out on a great adventure indeed. He was startled at a strange noise scraping into his door, he pressed his ear against the door until it stopped, then ran to the window to see what on Arda the wizard could be doing. Peeping between the two curtains, he could only see the retreating back of the wizard who had dared to inspire adventure into the mind of a nearly middle aged Hobbit. “Meddlesome wizards.” Bilbo grumbled, making his way to his study, suddenly interested in looking at dusty maps and old journals.             


End file.
